


Gimme Three Steps

by ForevermoreNevermore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Jealous Dean Winchester, Jealousy, M/M, Oblivious Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForevermoreNevermore/pseuds/ForevermoreNevermore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel decide to take a break and relax on their night off at a bar. </p>
<p>Title from Lynyrd Skynyrd's song "Gimme Three Steps"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme Three Steps

They closed the bar down that night, drinking and laughing and causing an uproar that nearly spilled the beer sitting on their table. Castiel was drunk by no extentsion of the word, but his normally brilliant blue eyes were just a bit hazy as he spread his arms and held onto the table with an unusually wide smile on his face.

Dean, on the other hand, was drunk. Plastered. Shitfaced. Every other nuance of the concept. He laughed, and he took up his whole booth as he leant against the wall and kicked his legs up onto the seat. 

They talked about everything, and nothing. Discussed theories and why the hell the labels were so hard to get off of the beer bottles. 

Castiel managed to still look uptight in the middle of the bar, until Dean practiclly demanded he take off the damn trench coat. 

"Relax," he said, swinging the beer in his hand with fervor. "It's our one night out. And I'm sure Sam has already taken off much more than an overcoat, so we sure as hell can relax." Castiel's trench coat lay beside him on the bench, white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and blue tie hap-hazardously pulled away from the delicate hollow of his throat.

Not that Dean thought it was delicate. It was fact. You could prick it with a sewing needle or a particularly over-fried french fry. 

Castiel ran a hand through his hair, leaving it dangerously disheveled-

Of course Dean couldn't even could come up like a phrase like 'dangerously disheveled' because, holy shit was that cheesy. And sexy. Actually, it was just pure sex.

Castiel was frowning at his beer label and no doubt asking something about what the point of it was. His face was just that much more flushed and his expression had the fluid effect of just the right amount of alcohol to make a person more comfortable. 

There were only four people in the bar, disregarding the bar tender, so when two more men walked in everyone put half an eye on them for a moment. Tall, broad, one red-headed the other with dark curls, everyone had already lost interest. 

The last beer was drained by Castiel, he mimicked Dean and slammed it down on the table. A beer toppled over and rolled over onto his companion. Dean sat up in a flash, catching the bottle and setting it back on the table.

Dean gave an awkward chuckle. "Easy there, Cas." Castiel eased his grasp on the bottle and gave a sheepish shrug. Dean smiled. "I'll go get more." 

Castiel sent him off with a nod, and began to pick at the paper on the bottle. He couldn't remember exactly what he wasn't if he couldn't get it off in one piece, having overhead it in a fragmented conversation, but he really did want to know what he wasn't. He'd ask Dean when he returned.

____________

Dean leaned against the bar, waiting for the beers he ordered. 

"Is that your Impala out there?" Dean perked up, swinging his head to glance at one of the men who'd just entered. It was the one with dark curls. 

"Um, yeah. Yeah it is. Why?" The red head leaned over and glanced in the direction of the window, right behind the booth he'd been sitting at with Cas. 

"It's a beautiful ride." 

"Thanks..." But Dean could've sworn he parked it just over on the other side of the parking lot, easily seen from their booth. He grabbed the beers by their necks and gave them a nod before scooting back to the table. He felt the redhead's gaze on him the whole way back. 

"Dean, what does it mean if you can't get a beer label off in one piece?" Dean froze for a moment, frown showing before he reached a hand to the corner of his beer and gave one long rip, tearing the paper off in one long curling loop.

"It means you don't got any tact. How the hell should I know?" Cas looked down at the confetti lining his side of the bar with a small frown and scooped them into a pile, funneling them into one of the empty beer bottles. Dean snorted at him, but smiled fondly anyway. 

They finally leave when the bar is closed, loping out to the Impala. Dean was laughing, and Castiel was too, small, shoulder rattling things. The car roared to life at the same time that someone knocked on the hood of the car.

It was the curly headed man from earlier. He motioned for Dean to roll down the window, and he complied. 

"Hey, what motor you got there?" Dean absently wondered where the redhead was.

Castiel watched as Dean descended into technical jargon and turned to look out the window, nearly jumping out of his own vessel when there was a man standing at his own window. He copied the motion of the other man and eventually Castiel unrolled the window.

"Can I help you?" The man smiled, a big sloppy one. He put his hands over where the window rested and leaned down to rest against the car.

"Dean doesn't like people touching his Impala." They talk in quiet voices, and over the roar of the car and the chatter of Dean and the other stranger, they go unheard.

"My name's Lewis." The man's hand breaks the barrier of 'outside' and 'Impala' and Castiel matches the small advance in a backward motion.

Nevertheless he took the hand. "My name is Castiel." 

"Strange name for a strange looking guy." And Castiel really wasn't sure what the man was trying to do. 

At Castiel's obviously disgruntled expression, Lewis quickly amended his statement. "Strange is good. Strange... good." Lewis pulled a face at his own despair as the words escaped him. "I'm really bad at this."

"At what?" Now the man was full leaning into the car, arms crossed over where the window was housed and head a few inches from the cloth ceiling. 

"Well, I saw you when I came into the bar, and I just thought..." He paused then, face dropping and he stared blankly at a spot near Castiel's ear. The angel turned, nearly running nose to cheek with Dean.

"Oh, go ahead. I want to know what you 'just thought' as much as Cas does." Dean said smartly, smile only there like it had been pinned up at its corners. It was a scary smile, even by Castiel's standards. Lewis frowned, head still in the car.

"Well, I just thought... you don't really...?" Dean let out a small 'hmm' that he obviously thought was encouraging. It wasn't. "You don't really seem his... type..."

"His type?" Dean's eyebrows practically knocked his hairline back a few centimeters. "His TYPE? How the hell would you know anything about his type? I'm gonna-" His hand was on the door handle and clacking it open as he muffled out words of rage. Castiel was saying his name, and the other man was shouting 'Lewis!". "-shove it in a meat grinder-" The door slammed open, but only into the still nameless man's legs as he grasped at the frame of the door.

"Wait!" The dark-haired man said, peering in through the window and alternating pleading looks at Dean with glares at Lewis. "He didn't mean that-"

"You're going to fucking scratch her! I'll kick your ass too! Both of yours!" The man closed the door, having better leverage and Dean's fear of hurting his car on his side. Now Dean was fuming and cursing, a chihuahua stuck in a toddler's seat. "I'll line you up like whac-a-mole and beat the ever-loving shit-"

"Dean." Castiel tried to put a hand on the man's shoulder, but Dean pushed back and attempted to punch Lewis from his spot situated in his chair. Of course, he forgot that he was still strapped in by the seat belt and it cut across his neck and put a dent in his tirade. He let out a strangled roar, but it fell short to a near mew and Castiel was awfully fond of the frazzled, red-faced Dean puffing before him.

"Just get the fuck... away..." Dean managed, having defeated himself rather expertly. There was a red line across his neck and he took in gasps of air. Lewis drew back, scared for his life. The other man leaned down to ask something, but Dean whipped to shoot him a glare and he backed away. All was quite save for Dean's huffing breaths. 

"Dick... you don't even have a type..." Dean muttered as he put the car in reverse. It crunched over gravel and the lights swung over the near-empty diner.

"No. But I do have you." The car jumped when Dean misplaced the shifter and the two occupants jerked forward against their seat belts and Dean let out a curse word that Castiel didn't think he'd ever actually heard before. So it was really only a guess that that's what it was. Or it was badly mispronounced Latin and Dean thought there was a demon in the car. Because really, it was just a guess. 

The green-eyed man swung his head around to stare at Castiel for about two minutes and then there was another smile, a sober, small little thing that was brighter than all the grace in Heaven.

"You know Cas, you're just my type too."


End file.
